


come to me in the night hours; i will wait for you

by kenky



Series: Roleplay Practice [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28188345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenky/pseuds/kenky
Summary: “You’re not really here,” he mumbles, groans under his breath as he closes his eyes again, listening to the sounds of his hands slapping against his wet dick. “You’re not here, but I want…”“What do you want, Will?” asks Hannibal. “We all crave things that we think we don’t deserve; do you want me, Will? Do you think you deserve me?”
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Roleplay Practice [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123619
Comments: 2
Kudos: 56





	come to me in the night hours; i will wait for you

  
It’s been a while since he last felt the urge to touch himself.

The rattling in his head is too overwhelming, too noisy and distracting for him to pinpoint the exact provocation that has him standing here - completely naked. The small mirror above the sink is cracked, framed by smudges of toothpaste-fingerprints and other suspect stains; the overhead light flickers, casting a warm, eerie glow across the weathered tiles that are glued to the floor, as well as Will’s pale skin. He can see it in his reflection, hidden behind the dirty splatters, yes, but there nonetheless: with pink lips tipping into a frown; blue eyes upstaged by the dark circles; and the scratchy patches of stubble running along his jaw.

Motels are often lonely for Will, due to the fact that his dogs are never allowed to stay with him (nor would he want all of them cooped up into a tiny room, anyway). Tonight though, with his dirty reflection mocking him as he grabs ahold of his dick, Will feels the loneliness tenfold.

His eyes flutter shut at the contact, and he sucks in a deep breath, holding it there in his chest until the cool slather of lotion chills his heated skin. A rush of different emotions explode inside of him, like a starburst of separate Wills all experiencing the exact same thing: sadness, guilt - _euphoria_. Trembling fingers grip the edge of the sink, blunt nails clinging to porcelain as if they can pierce all the way through; up and down, up and down, Will drags the palm of his hand over his cock, gritting his teeth to stay quiet. Dr. Lecter is in the motel room next to his own; and from experience, Will knows that these walls aren’t exactly thick.

God, it’d be a complete _nightmare_ if Dr. Lecter heard him moaning. Will can imagine it in his mind, can picture the way that Hannibal’s head would curiously tilt, inspecting each and every sound like a work of art. _Hannibal is always so damned curious, isn’t he?_ Will sags to the ground, his knees gently smacking against the tiled floor, an arm stretched upward to keep him from falling flat on his face.   
  
_Hannibal_ , he thinks, flicking his wrist faster - _harder_. A terrible, horrible, incredible thought dispenses through Will’s head then, paints the picture of Hannibal standing in the open doorway, staring unashamedly as Will peers back, fogging up the bottom of the sink with hot pants. Oh god, oh _fuck_ ; he can’t think about Hannibal while he does _this_ \- how could he? Yet at the image of Hannibal’s crossed arms and the blank expression on the hallucination's face, Will tugs himself a bit rougher, sinking his teeth into the bottom of his lip until the taste of copper stings his tongue.

"Hannibal,” he says out loud, the sound of his voice thick and throaty, chalk full of yearning and desire. It’s embarrassing like this, curled up on the dingy, motel floor, crying out for a man who’d never once look at him with the same intensity that Will is fabricating. 

_“Hello, Will."_

It sounds so real, so lifelike and personal that Will has to blink. He doesn’t stop jerking off though; if anything, he spreads his legs even wider, hips jutting outward, ass in the air.

“You’re not really here,” he grumbles, groans under his breath as he closes his eyes again, listening to the sounds of his hands slapping against his wet dick. “You’re not here, but I want…”

_“What do you want, Will?”_ asks Hannibal-who-isn't-really-Hannibal. “ _We all crave things that we think we don’t deserve; do you want me, Will? Do you think you deserve me?”_

“Yes. No. _God, yes and no_. I want you, but I don’t… I don’t deserve you,” he gasps, arching his back, twisting his body until he’s on all fours - his ass facing the opened doorway.

_“And why not?”_ It’s a simple question, uttered in Hannibal’s elegant lilt. 

_Why not?_

Wills shoves his head against the lip of the bathtub, his eyes rusted shut. He wants to come, but not like this - not alone. He’s so close, can feel it in the pit of his belly, built on unstable grounds.

“I don’t know.”

_“You do know. You know more than you think; you feel more than you think, don't you? Beautiful boy that you are, you know how I'd feel about this: about you touching yourself without permission. Naughty, aren't you? Come here, Will. Now, please.”_

It’s enough to get him to stop; he stands on his feet, or rather, scrambles, finds his discarded jeans in the very corner of the room, and yanks them up over his cock; the rest of his clothes are easy to spot, so he throws them on too, the image of Hannibal now gone, tucked safely into the well of his mind.

Swallowing, Will wets his lips and slips out the front door. Minnesota is cold this time of year, and the outside air slashes like knives across his warm face. 

One, two, three steps, then he’s at Hannibal’s door, jittering in place like a junkie. This is absolutely ridiculous. It’s late; no normal human is up at this time - let alone as horny and fucked up as he is. Someone like Hannibal doesn’t seem to be the type of person who is up after midnight, so when Will knocks, he’s shocked beyond hell to hear the door jiggle open.

It takes him a minute to process what he's seeing (no doubt standing there like a gaping fish): but there's Hannibal in all of his glory, smiling at Will as if he's everything *but* an inconvenience. Hannibal is dressed down, considerably, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms. No shirt, no slippers - even his hair is tussled, exposing a broad expanse of tanned skin, glistening underneath the moon. _Fuck_ , thinks Will, fighting back the urge to touch himself right then and there. 

"Will,” says Hannibal (the *real* Hannibal), cocking his head to the side (like Hallucination-Hannibal had done). Will thinks that maybe he’s going a little bit insane: either that, or he’s gotten Hannibal down to a Tee. If that's the case, then... 

“Can I… I’m sorry, I know it’s late, Dr. Lecter. I, um... Do you mind if I come in?”

Hannibal’s eyes are sunken pits of black, but when Will asks, they brighten and morph into something lighter - something sinister. A small part of Will wants to take a step back (to flee for his life), but the bigger, hornier part of him wants to take a step forward, wants to leap into Hannibal’s arms and grind their dicks together until the world behind them is nothing but a blur. 

"Please,” says Hannibal, stepping off to the side. “Never mind the time; I often find myself awaiting your company at all hours of the night."


End file.
